The Inuit have a hundred words for snow and I
have a hundred more for you.
They spill from my fingers, unchecked and protected by
distance and fibre optics.
Your name is a grape in my mouth, sweet and full and juicy
should I bite.
We are but a moment’s flickering hope draped in stardust
and snow.
kdw Sept 11/17 (unedited)
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